


How Gaby and Napoleon Ruined Illya's Perfectly Practical Plan: A Story of Friendship and Strategic Hostage Negotiation

by schweinsty



Series: The Friendship from U.N.C.L.E. [1]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Team as Family, attempted suicide, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 04:59:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4774409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweinsty/pseuds/schweinsty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caught between a rock and a hard place, Illya believes that the only way to protect those he loves is to take his own life. There are just two problems with his plan: Gaby Teller and Napoleon Solo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Gaby and Napoleon Ruined Illya's Perfectly Practical Plan: A Story of Friendship and Strategic Hostage Negotiation

**Author's Note:**

> Obvious TRIGGER WARNING for attempted suicide is obvious. While some of this fic is a bit darkly humorous, there are serious suicidal thoughts and attempts in here, so please tread carefully if you're triggered.
> 
> Written for a prompt at the kink meme.
> 
> Note: there may be some discrepancy between Illya's age here/in the movie, but there's been discussion about his & Napoleon's age gap, & Armie Hammer just doesn't look a lot older than he is, so, meh.

He receives his instructions on a Wednesday. They’re disguised as one of the occasional checkups both he and Napoleon have to go through with their handlers on a semi-regular basis, but Oleg is clear and concise. The time has come: Illya is to kill Solo (and the girl, if necessary), stage it to look like a mission gone wrong, and report to Moscow as soon as he can with as much of Waverly’s information as he can take with him.

There is no ‘or else’ given. This is not some green agent on his first undercover mission who may still be susceptible to the glitzy half-promises that Westerners deal in: This is Illya Kuryakin, shining star of the KGB, the man whose father’s treason is only as famous as the unwavering loyalty it bore in his son.

Illya doesn’t need to hear what will happen if he doesn’t; he already knows. His mother is still in Russia and with her Illya’s half-sister, whom Illya only met once eight years ago when the girl was six years old and her head didn’t quite reach the top of Illya’s thigh when she hugged his leg in greeting. They will be killed, of course, if Illya does not cooperate. Oleg does not need to tell him that for Illya to understand.

Illya had understood that was the way things would be when he began working for the KGB, but he had never foreseen it becoming a problem. Of course he would complete each and every mission his superiors gave him without question; to think otherwise was beyond impossible.

Except, of course, he never could have imagined Gaby Teller and Napoleon Solo worming their way into his life. He knows the friendship between them must be real, because not even the best spies could be so consciously effective, and it is that which made him consider this eventuality long before it actually came.

He is somewhat surprised to discover that he does not feel fear or nerves or even anger as Oleg coldly dictates the parameters of his mission. Illya supposes that he has lived with the knowledge that this day was coming for so long that he has grown used to the idea; all he feels, even as he replies “Yes, it will be done,’ in a carefully calm, detached voice, is resignation.

His thirtieth birthday is three weeks away, but they have a mission in Argentina in four days. Illya thinks it would have been nice to have made it to thirty, but twenty-nine will have to do.

 

It all starts off perfectly according to plan. Naturally, Illya has a plan for just this situation, which he originally formulated on the flight back from Istanbul while Napoleon and Gaby, battered and bruised from protecting Illya’s unconscious body when they blew up their cell, slept.

The important thing is to make his death look like a death in the line of duty. If it looks like a suicide, he may still be branded a traitor after his death, and his mother will suffer for it.

It is not difficult to find people who want to kill him, especially when he and his team are attempting to infiltrate a community of former Nazis who I wanted for war crimes. The first part of Illya’s plan is to place himself in a dangerous situation but to make sure that Gaby and Napoleon are nowhere near him, either to be put in danger themselves or to interfere.

Illya manages this beautifully, sneaking away from their hotel in the middle of the night. His death will look perfect. Not only does he have a history of going off on his own, which his first mission with Napoleon will attest to, his death should provide enough evidence for Waverly to take out the criminals they’re hunting without the expense and bother of a trial, so it will actually have a purpose. Also, it will be much easier for Waverly’s psychiatrists to help Gaby and Napoleon realize that Illya’s death was in no way their fault, and it will be easier for them to bear.

The lead they’re following has to do with some of the Nazis having ties to weapons smuggling, so it’s little surprise to find a stash of machine guns, grenades, and even some rocket launchers in a secret, underground hidey-hole on the grounds. The rest is easy: Illya simply has to make a suitable amount of noise to be discovered, which, if it goes against everything he’s ever learned and makes him feel uncomfortable because of its wrongness, is easy enough to do.

Banging the butt of his flashlight against one of the steel support beams eventually brings the guard down to investigate. Illya prepares himself, drawing his gun and readying to fire off some ill aimed shots. He wants to provoke the guard into shooting back in defense, as getting captured would only result in a much longer death and, possibly, give Gabby and Napoleon enough time to rescue him, which would defeat the entire purpose of the operation.

He doesn’t have long to wait. The guard, a fresh-faced brat of maybe nineteen years, comes into view, and Illya feels a small pang of pity that he may be the boy’s first kill. There is no time for any other flights of fancy, however, as the boy’s eyes sweep over Illya and widen even as Illya brings his gun up and sets his finger on the trigger.

And that’s where Illya’s perfect plan stops going according to plan, because Illya doesn’t have the time to shoot-and the boy doesn’t even have his gun fully unholstered-before, of all things, a billiards ball comes flying through the air and hits the boy on the head.

The boy crumples to the ground, the victim of a nasty concussion, and Napoleon Solo saunters out of one of the dark hallways that leads into the weapons room.

“Evening, Peril,” Napoleon says with the smirk. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Napoleon, it turns out, heard Illya get up and followed him there. However, Napoleon being Napoleon, he broke into the house first, finding a secret passage behind a bookcase in Hines’s study, which explains the billiards ball.

“I’ll admit,” Napoleon says once they’ve duly photographed the evidence and headed out to a clump of trees behind the house, where Gabby awaits them with the getaway vehicle, “I didn’t expect you to go it alone, Peril. Not now.”

Illya notices the slight note of what could almost be hurt in Napoleon’s voice, but he chooses to ignore it. It’s bad enough that now he has to pretend to be grateful to Napoleon for saving his life.

 

Waverly gives them some downtime after Switzerland, as they finish so quickly, so Illya doesn’t get another chance at putting his plan into motion for a week and a half. This time they’re in Yugoslavia, and to the mission involves former gunfights and brawls than Switzerland, but Napoleon is keeping such a close eye on him – apparently worried that Illya will run off the instant he gets a chance (which, to be fair, is true) – that Illya doesn’t get a chance to put himself in harm’s way properly until the climax of the entire thing, when he and Napoleon separate to chase after some playing embezzlers, leaving Gabby to disarm a bomb back at the castle.

The castle's located near the sea, and Illya’s motorcycle chase leads him down some cliffside stretches of highway which are just begging to set the stage for an accident. Illya is not particularly fond of drowning, having had one or two uncomfortable experiences with water – including a little bit of torture – aside from his first mission with Napoleon, and he would far rather take a bullet then end his life in the water, but he has little choice. Oleg will expect results soon – is probably wondering why Illya couldn’t manage it in Switzerland – and every minute that Illya stalls puts his family in danger.

It’s easy once Illya makes up his mind to it. He speeds up, forces the man he was chasing off the road and down, off the cliff and into the ocean, but instead of speeding off or stopping to make sure the man dies, Illya drives his motorcycle off after him.

The fall almost feels almost like flying, and Illya has a quick moment to wonder if the impact might actually kill him before he starts to drown. His hopes, however, are squashed when he knifes into the water, his training subconsciously taking over even against his will, and he finds himself alive.

No matter, Illya thinks. The motorcycle, which falls with him, is easy to cling to, and it will provide answers to the whys and the hows.

Illya sinks. He is just this side of consciousness, deep in the water, when he feels a concussive sort of blast and immediately after something grabs him by the ankle and starts yanking him up.

Illya almost tries fights them off, but even in his state of near death he recognizes Gaby’s hand, and he could never hurt her.

He wakes up on the beach, a soaking wet Gaby kneeling over him, helping to turn him onto his side so he can spit up sick and saltwater. When he gets his bearings back enough to look around, Illya realizes that the castle – and most of the cliff it was on – are gone, chunks of rubble still sliding into the water.

“It turned out there was a fail-safe,” Gaby says once Illya entirely finishes vomiting. “So I grabbed a Lamborghini and drove as fast as I could. Was down by the beach when I saw you go over. Barely made it in time.”

She looks so horrified at the thought that she almost didn’t save Illya that Illya promises himself his next attempt – that is, his successful completion of Plan: Protect Illya’s Cherished Friends and Family – will take place far, far away from her and Napoleon.

 

To this end, he asks Waverly for a solo mission when they get back. He pretends that Solo’s mannerisms still bother him and that he needs some time to gain perspective about his feelings towards Gaby, both of which are not particularly true but plausible enough that Waverly believes him.

He’s literally half an inch from being stabbed to death by a mad scientist in Belgium when Gaby and Napoleon appear out of nowhere and bodily grab the man and force him down to the ground.

“We had a vacation coming,” is all the explanation Gaby gives.

“Belgium is quite nice this time of year,” is Napoleon’s contribution, which is a bald-faced lie if Illya’s ever heard one.

However, he can’t call them on it when they could as easily ask him what he was doing in Belgium and why he wasn’t putting up a better fight, so he lets it go and pretends he isn’t interested.

 

Things get even more difficult after that. There is nothing wrong with Illya’s plan, of course, except that step one, making sure that Gabby and Napoleon are safely out of harm’s way and have no chance of interfering, is literally impossible to put into action because Gabby and Napoleon have apparently decided to keep him under twenty-four hour surveillance. Try as hard he might, Illya can find no possible way to put himself in danger without making it obvious that he’s doing so, thus endangering the lives of his mother and half-sister.

He’s at his wit's end when, out of the blue, Waverly decides to send them on an impromptu mission to Iraq. It’s only a small, two day thing, but Illya is desperate enough that he grasps at the opportunity like, ironically, a drowning man reaching for a life preserver.

Except that, even in Iraq, he can’t manage it. Either Gaby or Napoleon are with him every single minute of the day. Illya can’t even go to the bathroom without finding one of them a foot outside the door when he comes out. It’s touching, in a way, that there so worried that he’ll run off that they would go so far to stop him, but on the other hand, the fact that their urge to protect him is keeping him from properly protecting them makes him want to tear his hair out.

The mission ends with nothing more exciting than a foot chase through a few streets, and Illya gives up. They're to spend one more night at the hotel before flying out the next morning, and Illya decides he has no other choice but to just go for it.

Napoleon and Gaby, for once, actually seem willing to give Illya some space, probably since they believe that all the danger is past now that the mission's over.

Illya spends part of the evening writing his suicide note, pretending it’s a letter to his mother when Napoleon asks. In it, he explains the situation he finds himself in to Gaby and Napoleon. He knows that they’ll understand, even if they don’t want to, and he begs them to arrange his corpse when he’s dead so that it looks like he was murdered by a drug smuggler. Illya feels bad, naturally, that he has to do this, knowing that it will weigh heavily on both of their minds, but he sees no other alternative.

Napoleon actually leaves the room they’re sharing at eight o’clock, saying he’s going down to find some company, and not to expect him back for several. Illya is disgustingly grateful, and he actually finds himself smiling at the man when Napoleon leaves.

He finishes and signs the letter, only realizing when he dates it that today’s his thirtieth birthday, so he made it after all. He slips a letter in an envelope addressed to Napoleon, taking some perverse pleasure in writing out the man’s first name for everyone to see, knowing how much Napoleon hates it. He hopes Napoleon, not Gaby, will be the one to find him after, but he supposes that’s in the hands of luck, and there's nothing he can do to help it.

Now that the time has come to do this cold-bloodedly, Illya finds himself hesitant. Not that he’s scared, or that he’s having second thoughts, but that he wants to make sure everything is tied up as neatly as he can make it before he goes. He double checks his suitcases to make sure nothing would will look suspicious to his superiors at the KGB, and he even makes a little bit of a mess with his unpacked clothes so Napoleon and Gaby will have an easier time of it making it look like someone else did this.

Eventually, however, Illya knows that he’s done everything he can, and he takes out his gun-a Beretta which he’s always liked the heft of-and holds it up to his heart. He’s situated himself near the door of the room, where it will be easier to arrange it to look like he let someone in only to be taken by surprise and gunned down. The obviousness of the location makes it unlikely that anyone will seriously suspect Napoleon, who could easily have smothered him in his sleep any of the four nights they’d stayed there.

One deep breath in, one deep breath out, and Illya’s finger tightens on the trigger –

-and Napoleon Solo bangs open the door, grin on his face, saying “Peril! Gabby needs you to help her –“

Illya’s not sure who’s more surprised, Napoleon or himself. Napoleon stops with a start, and his eyes go comically wide.

“Ah, Illya,” Napoleon starts, and stops. It’s the first time Illya’s ever seen Napoleon Solo speechless, but he can’t find any amusement in it.

“Please,” he says, and he knows there is begging in his tone. “You must leave.”

“No,” Napoleon says. He steps properly inside the room and lets the door swing shut quietly behind him. His face has paled at least two shades, but there’s a stubborn set to his shoulders that Illya recognizes with a sinking feeling in his gut. “No, I really don’t think I should.”

“Please,” Illya tries again, but even as he does he knows it’s useless. This is so stupid, he thinks. He’s doing it for them but they won’t let him, and if he can’t…”Please. You don’t understand. I must.”

Napoleon shakes his head.

“Why don’t we sit down and talk this over?” Napoleon tries. He lifts one hand placatingly. “No need to rush, we can just step back for a minute and-“

“No!” Illya feels the rage coming on, finally, anger at Oleg and Napoleon and most of all himself, for being completely incapable of executing the simplest of plans. “I will not talk this over, I will do this, and nothing you can say will stop me.”

Napoleon blinks.

“All right,” Napoleon says. And then Napoleon reaches into his own pocket, takes out a pistol, and puts the muzzle to his temple.

“What.” It stops Illya cold, it does, because he expecting smooth talk, cajoling, or, possibly, begging, but-this? He did not expect this.

“If you’re insisting on committing suicide,” Napoleon says, “Then I’m going to go as well.”

“No, you won’t.” He won’t; Illya knows this, knew before he met Napoleon that the other man is not the sort to throw away his life, knows that Napoleon is bluffing him just like any other con. But he can’t risk any harm coming to Napoleon, and if he shoots himself now and someone rushes into the room to find Napoleon standing over his body with a gun in his hand, it could be bad. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not being ridiculous,” Napoleon starts. Then he shrugs, takes stock, and continues. “All right, I am being ridiculous, but I would like to point out that you started it, and I’m also quite serious about shooting myself if you do.”

“No,” Illya says, and he’s about to say more, he is, because he really, really needs to get on with this, and he can’t get on with it with Napoleon in the room-with Napoleon watching-

-but at that very moment, Gaby Teller slams open the door, barely missing Napoleon, and traipses into the room.

“-Candles on the cake all melted down,” she’s saying, and then she realizes what she’s looking at, and, “What.”

“Illya’s decided to kill himself,” Napoleon says, “So I am holding myself hostage.”

“What,” Gabby says again.

“And before you mention it, we’re all well aware of how ridiculous this is, so there's no need.”

“Wait,” Gaby says. “So, Belgium-when you-you almost-Illya, how could you?”

Her eyes fill with tears, and Illya has to force himself to look away.

“Please, leave,” he says. It’s honestly a wonder that Oleg hasn’t called to threaten him with his family’s murder yet; Oleg’s being remarkably patient, but that won’t last, and he can’t stand to lose the two of them any more than he can stand to lose these two. “You don’t understand. I have to.”

The last three words burn hard in his throat and come out raw, and Gaby winces and steps out of Illya’s immediate line of sight, making her way to the bed on his left. Illya lets her go, listens as she sits down on the bed and chokes out a sob. It’s not like she could take him out, anyway; tackling him would be too dangerous, as the gun might go off when she did and kill him anyway, so he doubts she’ll try it.

“Why?” Napoleon’s still got the muzzle of his pistol held resolutely to his head, but now there’s something in his eyes, like he’s adding up two and two and about to figure four. “Why do you need to die?”

Illya’s eyes involuntarily go to the envelope on the nightstand, and he winces as Napoleon easily follows his gaze. Oh, well, no matter; they’re bound to read it after he’s dead, either way, and it changes nothing. He still has to die tonight, no matter what he has to do to manage it.

“Is it something you did?” Napoleon asks. His tone is sharper, now, harder, and he cocks his head to the side just a little. “Waverly? Your handler? Is it something you need to twenty milligrams should do it, Gaby.”

And Illya just has time to process the words before he feels a prick on the side of his neck, and then he feels nothing but strong hands grabbing for him as he falls.

 

“I really should have figured this out,” Napoleon says when Illya opens his eyes the next morning, head fuzzy and mouth dry from whatever Gaby drugged him with.

Napoleon’s sitting next to Illya’s bed, and he’s got Illya’s letter in his hands. Illya shuts his eyes again and takes a deep, long breath. Maybe he can warn his mother; maybe he can still make it back in time and-

“Illya,” Gaby says, and Illya feels a dip in the bed and a small, warm hand smooth his hair back from his head. “Don’t ever do that again.”

Illya opens his eyes again, because he knows he has to eventually, so he might as well get it over with. He expects Napoleon’s expression to be somewhere between irritated and smug-which it is-but he doesn’t expected Napoleon to have dark circles under his eyes, or for Gaby to have red rims around hers.

“I’m sorry,” Illya says, because he is. Any distress he caused them, had his plan worked, would have been collateral damage, but now it’s just pointless. He couldn’t even manage to kill himself properly, much less protect any of his family; what kind of agent does that make him?

Gaby sprawls out on the bed beside him and loops her arm around his chest. Napoleon, for his part, reaches down and grabs Illya’s upper arm. It might be a lingering effect of the drugs, but Illya’s chest feels warm and tight, and his eyes ache.

“There are ways around this, you know,” Napoleon says after a moment, and Illya huffs in response-because short of him or them spontaneously dropping dead, it’s hopeless. Napoleon’s hand tightens around his arm, though, as does Gaby’s hold on him, and Napoleon continues. “Listen, I have a plan.”

 

It’s stupidly easy, in the end. Once a KGB agent decides to defect-say, to British Intelligence-certain allowances are made to protect his or her family, and all it takes, after all is said and done, is one long, encrypted phone call to Waverly’s direct line. Smuggling Illya’s mother and sister out is the tricky part, but Oleg and Illya’s other superiors are, if suspicious, certainly not omniscient, and Gaby wasn’t Waverly’s only sleeper agent in the USSR. He has to burn one agent’s cover, but when the man leads the two women over the Finnish border, Illya’s the first one to greet them, Gaby and Napoleon at his side.

Illya’s family are set up in a comfortable-and, more importantly, secure-flat in London, where they’ll be guarded and cared for through the foreseeable future.

“Perhaps I was hasty,” Illya admits some months later, when he and Gaby and Napoleon are recovering from a mission in their own flat. He leans back into the loveseat he’s sprawled on and sighs in relief when the pressure eases off two of his broken ribs. “I-how do you say-jumped the gun.”

Napoleon shrugs, though the effect is rather spoiled by the sling under one arm and the fact that he’s lying down on a sofa with a newspaper draped over his entire upper half. “It was a difficult situation.”

“It wouldn’t come naturally to you, to trust Waverly,” is Gaby’s contribution. She’s sprawled out in front of the fireplace on a mass of large cushions, blankets covering over ninety percent of her body. Bandages cover the rest, courtesy of an American double agent. “We understand.”

Illya’s not entirely sure they do, but he doesn’t say so, because it honestly doesn’t matter, and they lapse back into the warm, comfortable silence that will probably cause them to doze off and wake up sore and achy and irritated, and they’ll probably spend the afternoon bickering and groaning at each other.

Illya wouldn’t have it any other way.


End file.
